Tavern Nights
by TennisWriter456
Summary: That thing was worse than anything she could imagine and anything she had experienced in the past. It was deadly and inevitable, no matter how hard she tried to evade it. It continued crawling into her mind, contaminating her soul, and making her quiver. It was the one thing she abhorred most in the world: falling in love.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, and welcome to _Tavern Nights!_ I just beat this game and felt unsatisfied with how it ended regarding a certain relationship that I really loved, so this short story is dedicated to expanding upon that relationship. I hope you all enjoy it!  
**

* * *

Chapter One

"Drinks all around! It's on me tonight!"

"Do you even have the money to afford that, honey?"

"Shut up, you. What d'you know?"

* * *

Laughter that was loud enough to reach the farthest corners of the city filled the tavern on that starry night. People from every reach of the Empire sat at the tables, clinking mugs and sharing stories and basking in the newly found peace. It was the night of the tavern's reopening, and the place had quickly become the hub of Lazulis City once again. Ariela, the woman who owned and ran the tavern, had never experienced such business on any single night, and was smiling from ear to ear. She stood behind the bar, winking and flirting and pouring drinks while men and women continued piling in. It was a night worthy of celebration, after all, she thought to herself. Peace had finally been reached. Ariela even felt a sense of pride—it was her tavern that had harbored the team of mercenaries (now her close friends) that had saved both the Empire and the Gurak continent.

"Ariela, keep 'em comin'!" came a familiar voice.

"You have to be careful, Syrenne!" she laughed.

A young woman suddenly and rather drunkenly climbed onto one of the tables and began waving her mug around.

"It's a night to celebrate, ain't it?" she cried. A roar of agreement rose up from the other customers.

In the young woman's head, however, there was anything but a celebration. There was no happiness, no excitement, no final relief about the fact that the struggles were over. There was only confusion, longing, a sense of deep and raw regret twisting her thoughts into horrible, shadowy beings. She looked at the faces of the men around her, cursed herself, and looked harder. He was not there. She had heard his voice, seen his smiling face, and looked into his eyes only moments ago. And now he was gone. The thing that was morphing her mind, causing the pain and forcing the alcohol down her throat, the thing she wanted most in this world, was not where she had left it. She lifted the mug to her lips and downed the rest of the beer. The numbness was becoming comfortable.

_I could've sworn he was there, just now,_ she thought. And she pointed to the spot where he had been, swayed slightly, squinted. No matter how hard she looked, she couldn't find him. _Where could he have gone?_

"Right over there," she said. She wagged her finger desperately, and suddenly, the noise became overwhelming, the headache excruciating. Screaming...so much screaming.

"Syrenne—"

"_He was right there!"_

"Come on, Syrenne, come here."

Suddenly, she was being dragged off the table, away from her lookout spot, the place where she needed to stand and find him. As soon as she felt the soft fingers wrap around her arms, she began flailing as wildly as she could.

"Stop! No, stop, let me go, I gotta find 'im! He was there! _Right there!"_

She kicked and swung her arms and wondered why her fighting skills, so useful on the battlefield, were suddenly failing her.

"Let go, please!"

And then, after what seemed to have been an eternity of endless noise and an endless headache, the only sound she could hear was her own voice. She cringed at it, and cringed again when her mug collided with the floor. She was screaming, but she could barely understand herself. She was screaming about him, and how he had been "_right there"_ but was suddenly gone. She started looking around anxiously, asking herself why everything was so foggy, why it was so difficult to make out the faces and the voices.

"What...why can't I...what is this...?" she mumbled. The fingers around her arms led her to a chair and then forced her down into it, though she couldn't find much strength to resist it. Then a smooth voice, for some reason clear among the other faded ones, began whispering in her ear.

"Shh, it'll be okay, you're perfectly all right."

For a split second, everything became clear, and she was aware of everyone's eyes on her. And she saw the face of the person who was speaking above her, a sweet pale face with sparkling eyes that were comfortingly familiar and a voice that—for a reason she couldn't pinpoint—calmed her. Then, a name rang out in her head: _Mirania._

"Mirania?"

"Yes, Syrenne, it's me."

Everything became foggy again, everything except for that voice and that face.

"Mirania..."

She searched the room again, but each time she thought she saw him, there was a flash and he was gone. And everything was so foggy. When she opened her mouth and tried to speak, she only heard incoherent babble escape her chapped lips. The energy was seeping out of her at a frightening speed, her thoughts were muddled and she was confused with her own emotions. The whole time she felt Mirania over her, trying to soothe her. But nothing could soothe her. Mirania kept repeating a name...her name...

_"Syrenne, Syrenne, Syrenne."_

"Why does everybody keep sayin' my goddamned _name?_" she heard herself cry. Everybody was saying it. The walls, the floors, the customers, the shadowy beings that had invaded her mind. They were all saying it.

_"Syrenne, Syrenne, Syrenne."_

"What? What d'you want?"

_"Syrenne, Syrenne, Syrenne."_

"I can't...I can't think..."

She closed her eyes as tightly as she could with the hope that all of the voices would disappear, and for a split second, they did. But as soon as she ventured to open her eyes again, they were there again, piercing her mind.

_"Syrenne, Syrenne, Syrenne."_

"Please, just stop it already..."

Again, in the hope of silence, she closed her eyes. An array of colors flashed behind her eyelids, so horribly disturbing that she opened her eyes almost immediately.

"Mirania!"

She grabbed for that voice, that face, grabbed for anything familiar and anything comforting. Those porcelain fingers wrapped around her own, squeezed, and then the voice came again.

"Yes, Syrenne?"

"I want to take a bath."

"Of course."

Without another word, Mirania helped her stand up and led her through the crowd, through the spilling drinks and the drunkards and the mumbles. Stumbling and stuttering, she made her way up the stairs with Mirania still holding her arm. Slowly, the noise was dying, and her head was clearing. The further up she went, the more comforting the descent of the screaming. The silence was finally coming. Mirania, that beautiful black-haired angel, led her to a door that had been left ajar and took her inside. As soon as the door was closed, all the noise stopped. She took a deep breath, sighed in relief, and felt the tension lift off of her shoulders. Mirania took her into the bathroom, all the while muttering words of gentle comfort, and began to draw the bath. Then she helped her undress, helped her step into the bathtub, and pulled up a stool.

She felt the warmth of the water seep into her skin, let it run over every inch of her, and dunked her head under. She wanted to feel the wetness in her hair. Then, she looked over at Mirania and smiled.

"Syrenne...that's my name, isn't it?"

Mirania smiled back and nodded.

"I'd forgotten for a moment, ya know."

"Did you?"

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for a few more seconds as Syrenne's thoughts cleared; the clearer they became, the more pain she felt.

"Mirania, I ain't really drunk."

"I could tell," she replied.

"How come?"

"You never act that way when you're drunk. You're usually very happy when you're drunk, actually. Similar to me after I eat a large meal...that's how you are when you're drunk. But you're not very happy right now. So I assumed you weren't drunk."

"Oh."

Syrenne drew her knees up to her chest and lay her chin down on them. There was one spot on the wall that she stared at intently in the hopes that maybe all of the pain and the confusion would disappear in the process of concentrating on something so seemingly insignificant. She tried to forget what had made her mind so foggy, what had brought on the headache and the desire to drink and drink and drink. But for some reason, the drinking hadn't worked this time. Her mind had clouded before the alcohol had had a chance to kick in. Tonight was not a night for booze, an idea that was difficult for her to swallow. There had never been a problem that drinking hadn't fixed for her.

"Are you going to tell me what's really wrong, Syrenne?"

"No, I don't think I am."

"Something is bothering you. Something is making you sad and confused. So much so that your thoughts are clouded..." Mirania had a pensive expression on her face, one that made Syrenne want to cry. She was right, after all. And Syrenne hated admitting that other people were right.

"Mirania, I really think I'd like to be alone right now."

"Very well. If you need anything, feel free to call me or Yurick."

"Will do. Thanks."

"And, Syrenne?"

Mirania stopped at the door and turned around with a shimmer in her eyes.

"What?"

"Don't be afraid to let your guard down every once in a while," she said. "You'll find that sometimes it can be rather enlightening."

And with that, she stepped out of the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She left Syrenne in a state of distress. Letting her guard down was exactly what she always told herself not to do. She had seen so many people fall prey to the emotions that attacked when guards were let down. The most haunting example she could think of was Dagran...

_Don't think about him,_ she told herself quickly, and shoved him from her mind.

Unfortunately, something almost as haunting waited for her in his wake. The thing that was making her shiver, even in the warm bath water, the thing that had made her weak enough to feign drunkenness. Something she had never imagined happening to her was slowly creeping in through the cracks in her walls, which she was sure she had fixed long ago. That thing was worse than anything she could imagine and anything she had experienced in the past. It was deadly and inevitable, no matter how hard she tried to evade it. It continued crawling into her mind, contaminating her soul, and making her quiver. It was the one thing she abhorred most in the world: falling in love.

"Drinks all around! It's on me tonight!"

"Do you even have the money to afford that, honey?"

"Shut up, you. What d'you know?"

That was the last conversation they had had. And then, when she had looked for him, he had disappeared.

_"Do you even have the money to afford that, honey?"_

Syrenne could recall the exact spot in which he had been standing, the spot she had pointed to in her craze. She remembered the tone of voice, sarcastic and playful. The same tone of voice he always used when he teased her, the tone of voice that made her knees buckle and the color rise to her cheeks. And she had responded in the same way she always did: by insulting him. That was the way it went. He teased, she retorted, and the cycle repeated itself. They were satisfied with it, both of them. At least, they had been...suddenly, things had become different. And change scared Syrenne.

When she finally found the courage to look at her fingers, they were as wrinkled as an old man's. Syrenne stepped out of the bathtub and began dabbing at the water dripping from her skin with the towel. She grabbed her pants, but out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror on the wall. Throwing her pants back down, she stood in front of the mirror and examined herself. As she scanned her reflection, she tilted her head, changed her position...changed it again.

_Am I pale enough?_

_ Am I _too_ pale?_

_ Am I curvy enough?_

_Am I full enough?_

_ Am I skinny enough?_

_ Mirania _was_ talkin' 'bout how I'd gained a bit of weight recently..._

Syrenne ran her fingertips from her toes up to her thighs and asked herself if her skin was smooth enough. But there was no way for her to know. So she huffed and turned away from the mirror. She avoided it as she ran the towel through her fiery hair, and then found herself wondering if the tendrils were shiny enough. She had never wondered before, but at that moment, it was the only thing on her mind.

_Am I good enough?_

Syrenne decided that she wanted to sleep naked that night. It was hot and she didn't want to bother with putting her clothes back on anyway. As she made the decision, she came to the startling realization that she had never slept naked before. So her idea to do so brought a smile to her face. She went back to the mirror one more time. She didn't know if she should've been admiring or criticizing herself, so she did neither. She simply examined herself. Then she lowered her head and shook it with all of her might, watching the droplets of water fly from her hair onto the walls. She flipped her head back up and felt the sting of her hair on her bare back. Then she grinned at herself, teeth and all, and felt satisfied.

Just as Syrenne was about to open the door to her room and slip into bed, she heard a loud sound. It was the sound of a door being flung open with extreme force, and for a moment, Syrenne felt a rush of fear. But it soon passed. She then heard the sound of a door crashing closed, and in shameless curiosity, pressed her ear against the door. Someone had entered her room with such urgency that it almost worried her. She focused all of her energy on listening to what was happening. As soon as the door crashed, she heard the sound of moaning, and her eyes widened. She listened more closely, and was finally able to discern the situation. There were two people who had entered the room, closely intertwined, and were now going at it in what they thought was privacy.

_How gross,_ she thought to herself. Even as she did so, she continued listening. She heard heavy breathing, sighs of pleasure and the occasional laugh. Then came the name, the subtle exclamation that made Syrenne's hair stand on end.

It was a woman's voice.

"Oh, Lowell!"

Syrenne felt pain as she had never felt before, and jealousy struck her so strongly that she was seeing red. Without another's moment's hesitation, she threw the door open and stepped out into the room, naked.

The silence that followed was the most awkward (and somehow, the most satisfying) she had ever experienced. Lowell jumped up from the bed at the sudden interruption, and as soon as he saw Syrenne standing there with her hand on her bare, cocked hip, his jaw dropped. The woman on the bed gasped and reached for the covers, hoping in vain to cover her own nakedness. Syrenne had discovered them, and blinked away the tears just so that she could ruin it for them as much as she could. Lowell was speechless—his eyes were round, and Syrenne could see that he was struggling not to move them from her face. The woman looked, wide-eyed, from Syrenne to Lowell and back to Syrenne.

"S-Syrenne...?" Lowell finally managed. The pain that Syrenne had been experiencing only moments ago, pain induced by desire and longing, had been replaced by pain induced by jealousy and anger and a sense of absolute betrayal.

"This is my room, ain't it?" She raised her eyebrows and glared first at him, then at the woman. She couldn't help but notice that Lowell had discarded his shirt and was desperately clawing to keep his loosened pants up.

"I..." Lowell was still unable to construct a sentence.

"So? Get out then, the lot o' ya! Is it so wrong for a girl to want some shut eye, for once?" she continued. "Go on! Scram!"

Syrenne thanked God (or whomever it was that she should've been thanking) for the fact that she still had her uncanny ability to mask her emotions. She had always regarded that trait as her biggest asset, and now, it was coming through beautifully. She needed nothing more at this moment than her characteristic sassiness, the feistiness by which people seemed to define her. The ironic thing was that she felt more vulnerable than ever before, and inside her head she was anything _but_ feisty. But in the face of this horrible betrayal, she had no choice, and it was because of that that she was thanking God.

"Hurry up, will ya?!" she screamed again.

In a hurried fit of throwing on clothes and rushing for the door, the two of them avoided Syrenne's glare and made their way out of the room. Just before Lowell disappeared, closing the door behind him, he made eye contact with Syrenne, as she stood as defiant as ever. She tried to look away, but couldn't bring herself to. He stood with a glimmer of utter sadness, loss, and something else that Syrenne couldn't define in his eyes. Then, with what she assumed was one last glance at her pale and bare body, he closed the door and left her alone.

As soon as the door closed, Syrenne crawled under the covers of her bed—thankful that she had stopped whatever was to happen inside of it—and tried to fall asleep. When she finally did, it was a plagued slumber of nightmares and images that Syrenne wanted more than anything to forget.

She saw Lowell's lifeless body after he had saved her life.

_I have no reason to go on living..._

She saw his face smiling at her.

_Can't let any harm come to a beautiful girl like you..._

Then she saw him in her bed with that woman.

_Do you even have the money to afford that, honey?_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Don't touch me."

"Where are you going?"

"What's it to you?"

* * *

The headache from which Syrenne was suffering that morning was abnormally painful. She felt grateful that she could tell anyone who asked that she was hung-over when in reality, she had been perfectly sober the night before. She remembered everything with unwanted clarity, and the headache that remained was a result of her practically sleepless night. She had woken up countless times from the nightmares, and what little sleep she did get was restless. Syrenne sat at the bar at Ariela's tavern that morning and ordered a quick breakfast—she wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. She could feel Mirania's eyes on her as she shoveled the eggs down her throat. She avoided her gaze. Unfortunately for Syrenne, Mirania took the initiative and approached her, wiping remains of an undoubtedly large breakfast from her delicate lips.

"Good morning, Syrenne."

"Hey."

"How are you feeling? Any better?"

"Sure, yeah."

"That wasn't very convincing." Mirania chuckled and took a seat beside her friend. Syrenne swallowed the last bit of her breakfast and left a few coins on the counter.

"I'm fine, all right?" she urged. "I don't know why you have to be up my arse all the time."

"Just trying to be helpful, I suppose," Mirania replied, never losing her sweet comportment.

"Well I don't need help, okay?"

Syrenne stood up and, feeling somewhat guilty for treating Mirania with such blatant contempt, made her way toward the door. Yurick was standing at the entrance with his back against the wall, as he usual was, and straightened up at her approach.

"Syrenne! Hey, I was wondering—"

"What is it, Patchy?"

"Whoa...everything okay?" he asked. Syrenne hadn't meant to sound so aggravated in her response, and cursed herself for the mistake.

"Yeah, yeah, everything's just fine. What do you want?"

"I just wanted to know if maybe you'd want to go to the arena later. I know you enjoy the fights, and I could use the practice," he explained. He seemed a bit more subdued after her outburst and returned to his position against the wall.

"Yeah, sure, why not," she replied absentmindedly.

"I'll be hanging around there all day, so just come by when you're ready."

She figured that sometime during the day she would find herself stumbling across the arena, so she agreed. Yurick smiled at her, but it was the type of smile that seemed sympathetic. Syrenne didn't want sympathy. She walked past him and out the front doors before he or anybody else had the chance to say anything more. The sunlight that greeted her was surprising and unwelcome, and she shielded her eyes from the unexpected brightness. In her attempts to make her way to the street while hiding from the rays of light, she felt a harsh bump on her shoulder. She whirled around to confront the culprit, and was abruptly face to face with a true criminal.

"Syrenne—"

Of course it had to be Lowell.

"Don't touch me."

"Where are you going?"

"What's it to you?"

She sauntered off as quickly and as confidently as she could, denying herself the tempting opportunity to look back. Her arm tingled where it had made contact with his, and she unknowingly began rubbing it at the call of a baseless desire to feel it once more. The ground beneath her feet seemed to be moving at a breakneck pace; she felt as if she were flying over the cobblestones to a place that only her movements recognized. In her head, Syrenne was going nowhere. She was wandering, inadvertently bumping into the people on the streets, and letting her feet take her wherever it was they wanted to go. The only goal that flashed in her mind was "away." Away from the tavern, away from them, away from him. She trusted in her feet to take her somewhere far away.

Before Syrenne could realize where she was going and come to her senses enough to stop and run the other way, she was standing in front of Dagran's grave. As soon as her eyes fell upon it the tears began welling, despite her vehement protests that they stay away. The area was deserted except for her, and though she tried to turn around and walk away, she stepped closer instead. Perhaps since nobody was around, it was okay for her to cry. Perhaps she could let herself slip this one time, but only because she was alone...

Throwing her swords to the ground, Syrenne sat in front of the grave and stared at it, completely motionless. The sunlight that fell upon it was, in her opinion, inappropriate. There was nothing there on which to shine, except for perhaps the few times that Dagran had made her smile. A little voice inside of her head cried, "But Syrenne, he was one of your best friends. He did so much for you, he saved your life...he _gave_ you a life." And yet, in the face of all of the darkness he had caused and the shadow he had allowed to overcome his soul, the smiles seemed meaningless. As the tears began streaming, Syrenne looked up at the sun and scowled at it.

"Go away, why don't ya? You don't belong here."

"Who are you talking to, Syrenne?"

Hastily, she wiped the tears from her cheeks and bit her lower lip to keep the rest of them at bay on the verge of her eyelids. She grabbed the nearest sword and ran her fingertip along the sharp edge. Then she cringed, because she recalled the circumstances in which she had acquired the sword.

"Nobody."

Zael sat down beside her on the dewy grass with that beautiful little smile on his face, the one that never seemed to go away. But she could see in the sunlight that there were tears in his eyes, too.

"So, you had the same idea as me, I suppose?" he said.

"Yeah, I guess..."

"I don't know why, but it seems as if I can't go a day without coming to visit him. He was always by my side, so I wanna be by his, you know?"

"I understand," Syrenne sighed. She couldn't bear to look at him, so innocent and content. "There's a battle in my head, though."

"A battle? What do you mean?"

Syrenne couldn't stop the tear that slipped out.

"One voice tells me he was a no good traitor and I should just forget about 'im." She paused, trying to recollect her composure before it broke down completely. "And the other tells me he was my friend, practically my savior."

"I know it's hard. But I like to think of him in a good light," Zael smiled again. She couldn't look at that smile, not without the possibility of flooding the dam. "Someone told me that it's nicer to think that if it weren't for him, we wouldn't be alive."

"Who told you that?"

"Lowell did."

The tears and their desire to flow grew stronger, so Syrenne turned her face away from him and toward the grave. She tried with every ounce of power in her body to ignore what Zael had just said, but the words had been permanently imprinted in her mind.

_Lowell_.

"Zael...?"

His eyes, so comforting and welcoming and friendly, were forcefully starting to draw the words from her mouth.

"What is it, Syrenne?"

"I..."

She suddenly forgot why it was she was crying. She forgot which emotions she was supposed to be feeling, which memories she was supposed to be seeing, which questions she was supposed to be asking. Was it about Dagran? About Lowell? About this painful fire inside of her heart that grew more ferocious with every passing moment? About the fact that each time she blinked she saw his pale and dead face in front of her, his closed eyes and the cold hands she had held in her own, saying, "I love you"? About the woman in her bed who kept reappearing to taunt the living hell out of her? About standing in front of the mirror, naked and vulnerable, asking herself if she was good enough? Everything became chaos inside of Syrenne's head. And then, out of the confusion and out from among the shadows, one lovely phrase made its way to the surface and echoed.

_Can't let any harm come to a beautiful girl like you..._

Syrenne tried to push it aside, push it away from the sunlight, just as she wanted to do with Dagran's grave. Why was she even upset? He had finally given her a reason to forget about the whirlwind of emotions into which they had both been sucked. He had done something that said to her, "It's not meant to be." She reprimanded herself for not jumping for joy. And even as she did so, the tears became as waterfalls against her skin.

"Zael, let's go to the arena."

"Erm...okay, I suppose we could. Calista and I are—"

"It won't be long. Don't worry about your little wifey now, all right? Patchy is going to meet us there and we're gonna have a ball." She forced the energy into her voice and into her actions as she grabbed her swords and stood up. Her eyes fell upon Dagran's grave one last time before she turned her back to it. But she could still feel the sunlight.

Zael stood up as well and followed her back into the town, where they silently made their way toward the arena. She glanced at him through the corner of her eye and could see him watching her with caring curiosity. She forbade thoughts of telling him what was on her mind, because doing so would make her even more vulnerable than she already was. Vulnerability was a word she detested, but what she detested even more was the fact that she was applying it to her own—oddly sober—state of mind. For a moment she considered stopping Zael, telling him that she only wanted to go drink, but she let herself move forward. A battle alongside two of her best friends might do her good.

"Hey, you showed up! And you brought Zael!" Yurick called.

He was standing in front of the entrance to the arena, waving them over. Syrenne flashed Zael the most realistic smile she could and walked over to where Yurick awaited them. As she drew closer, however, her heart sank and fell to pieces in the pit of her stomach. Lowell was standing there as well, crossing his arms in that condescending position of his. A conflict arose once more in her heart. The passions that were fighting for dominance. Hatred against love. Dismay against relief. Happiness against sadness. None seemed to claim victory.

"How are you guys?" Zael greeted.

A conversation began among the three of them while Syrenne tried her hardest to avoid Lowell's eyes. She could sense them on her, even when she turned her back. They were there, searing straight through her flesh and into the very core of her being.

Either that, she thought, or he was once again conjuring the image of her body standing naked before him_. _

"Syrenne, you're awfully quiet," Yurick said. "That's not like you."

"I'm sick of talkin', ya numpties," she said. "Let's get on with the fightin'!"

Then Syrenne made the mistake of looking at Lowell. And she knew, from the instant she looked into those icy blue eyes, that there was something hidden behind his crooked smile. That very smile was making her sick to her stomach in that she never wanted to look away. She could've stood there all day, without saying a word, and just stared at that charming smile of his. No matter how many times she tried to remind herself that there were other women he had blessed, willingly, with that smile, she was still absolutely held in its power. Syrenne contorted her face into an icy glare, a way of telling him that she was not to be tricked...but at the same time, she wasn't sure if he was trying to trick her at all.

"All right then," Lowell finally proclaimed. "Into the fray we go!"

Side by side, the four of them marched through the doors.

Syrenne was too slow; she couldn't protest when she felt Lowell's fingers grasp hers and, for a single moment that passed too quickly, squeezed as hard as he could. As soon as he let go, discreet and subtle and without even acknowledging what he had done, one word crossed Syrenne's mind...a word that she wanted to suddenly erase from her vocabulary.

_More._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"Move, you're gonna get yourself killed!"

"What—?"

"I said, _move!_"

* * *

The familiar voices of the announcers roared overhead, announcing once again that Team Zael was entering the battlefield. Syrenne unsheathed her swords, still unable to ignore the feeling left on her fingers from that fateful touch, and prepared herself for the upcoming brawl. She even found herself smiling. Fighting had a way of helping her forget her worries. When she was surrounded by enemies, the adrenaline pumped through her veins so strongly that her problems became nothing. Emotions took a backseat when her life was on the line, and right now, that was what she needed: a distraction.

"And Team Zael enters the battlefield!"

"Yeah, that's what I'm talkin' about!" Syrenne cried, scraping her swords against each other.

She moved toward the door and stood beside it, waiting for Zael to make the first move. When she looked over to the other side, Lowell was standing with his sword at the ready, watching her with a raised eyebrow. She felt chills go up her spine as he held her gaze so fiercely it was as if he was daring her to look away. So she stood her ground and narrowed her eyes at him, the whole time asking herself if it was in anger and contempt or in pure desire. But the issue only occupied her mind for a short while—before she could struggle against the image of Lowell and that woman, Zael opened the doors and led them toward their first foes.

"Knights," Yurick grumbled. "Great."

"C'mon, it'll be easy!" Lowell said. "We just have to work together."

"That's the hard part," Syrenne murmured under her breath. Without turning his head, he turned his eyes in her direction, and she noticed him smile a bit.

"Right," he agreed. "The hard part."

When he winked, Syrenne feared that her breakfast was going to resurface.

"All right, there's a healer and a sorcerer back there..." Zael began, completely oblivious to the odd signals his companions were throwing each other. He was all business when it came to the arena. "I'll use my Gathering to lure the knights over here, where Syrenne and I can take them out."

"Got it," she nodded.

"Yurick and Lowell, you take out the mages from afar."

"Right," the mages said in unison.

"All right, let's do this!"

Zael looked at Syrenne with a knowing smile, and then the blue light surrounded his hand. She gave him her most devious grin and rushed forward at his side, swords ready to take down any knight to stand in her way. And stand in her way they did, albeit trying to get to Zael. But together, with their three swords and mercenary skills that could hardly be matched, the two of them were unstoppable. They stood back to back and allowed the knights to surround them, and every single one of them was concentrating on the blue light emanating from Zael's tattooed hand. Then, they all moved forward and the commentators began.

_Get ready for the fight of your lives,_ she thought triumphantly. She swung her swords expertly against their advances and against their shields, swiftly pushing them back. Syrenne could see in their eyes, the only visible part of them beneath their helmets, they underestimated her. They examined her, saw her untidy hair and her feminine (she hoped) physique, and gave themselves a sense of security. It made her unbelievably angry and unbelievably happy at the same time—now she could show them the true power of the female. Behind her, she heard Zael skillfully taking on at least three knights at once, diving and avoiding their crisp swings. Syrenne was facing two of the large knights.

_Let's dance a little._

She allowed them the offensive position to begin with. Together, the two knights attacked, swinging their swords in futile attempts to skewer their agile target. With a smile on her face, Syrenne ducked and jumped and sidestepped each swing that they threw at her. As her evasive tactics continued, she could sense the frustration in their movements, which had become more desperate. They were now swinging with brute force; their strategy, just as Syrenne expected, had gone out the window. And now was her chance to use their strength against them.

_One on the left, one on the right._

The one on the left attacked first. She blocked with one sword, and swung at his helmet with the other. The collision of metal on metal sent him instantly crumpling to the ground, groaning in pain. The one on the right foolishly lifted his sword above his head with two hands, ready to bring down the fatal blow upon his opponent. She laughed quietly to herself and kicked him backward. The weight of the large weapon above his head made him stumble even further, and with one more leap and a victorious yell, Syrenne leaped forward and swiped her swords across his chest. Without another sound, he fell onto his back, motionless. As soon as he fell, she heard the horn blare, and knew that the others had been victorious as well. Together, they made their way to the next room.

"Nice going, show-off," Lowell snickered, elbowing Syrenne. She rolled her eyes at him.

"Oh, so you were watchin' me, eh?"

Syrenne walked by him, making sure to brush her shoulder against his, unsure if she did so for her own gain or for his disillusion. The battle in her head was become fiercer, but the battle that lay in front of her managed to take first priority.

"Gurak this time?" Yurick declared, screaming over the Jeffrey and Franklin's excited banter.

"What else were you expecting?" Zael shrugged. "They'll be a bit stronger, I'm guessing."

"No worries," Syrenne chided. "Nothin' we haven't seen before, right?"

"There's a spring over there," Zael pointed. "Make sure you get to it if you're wounded too badly. I'll be using Gale every once in a while, too. Ready?"

"Give the command, boss!" Yurick smiled, fire crackling on his fingertips.

"All right. Same strategy as before—be careful, because there are more mages this time."

"Way ahead of you," Lowell grinned almost maniacally. He was already lifting himself into the air.

"Ready, Syrenne?"

"I was born ready, Zael."

He turned on his Gathering, and they rushed forward to meet their enemies. Syrenne knew that the Gurak were stronger tactically than the Lazulis knights, but she had fought so many that it seemed like child's play. She and Zael were attacking practically in unison, he with his one sword and she with her two. One after the other, the Gurak fell to the stained ground, bloodied and rendered unconscious by the mercenaries.

"Such power! Such grace!"

Each step Syrenne took had more energy to it. However, she suddenly found herself surrounded by enemies who seemed unaffected by her constant and seemingly effective blows. When she looked down at her feet, she saw that the ground was black.

"Zael! A healing circle! Diffuse it!"

"On it!"

Within seconds, the Gurak soldiers were on the ground and the healer was crumpled against the wall. Just as Syrenne was about to laugh her triumphant laugh, a fierce and hot blow around her legs sent her flying, and in the blink of an eye she was on her back gasping for breath.

_Fire mages,_ she thought, the sky spinning above her.

"Syrenne!" It was Zael's voice, calling her name. "Get to the fountain, _now!"_

She was barely able to stand without shaking, but her mind was just clear enough for her to stumble to where Zael had first pointed out the healing fountain. The world continued spinning at a dizzying pace, and with each step Syrenne felt more incline to fall onto her face. If only Mirania was willing to accompany them to the arena...

Just as Syrenne felt she could move no further, she collapsed into the fountain. As the water, with its greenish tint and refreshing scent, covered her skin, a new burst of energy rushed through her at breakneck pace. By the time she stood back up, wet and refreshed, she was practically glowing. Everything was back to normal, and she felt ready to resume her position beside Zael. She hurriedly stepped out of the fountain and began making her way toward the blue light, but before she made it more than two steps beyond the fountain, something caught her eye.

_Lowell._

He was in the opposite corner, lifting himself into the air, surrounded by a misty blue light and closing his eyes. He was in the middle of casting his magic and was therefore left completely vulnerable to any attacks. A large, bloodthirsty Gurak commander was quickly making its way toward him, as it had somehow escaped the powerful draw of Zael's Gathering.

"Move, you're gonna get yourself killed!"

"What—?"

"I said, _move!_"

Lowell opened his eyes just in time to see the Gurak commander directly in front of him. Before he could come to his senses enough to move out of the way or fight back, the Gurak's sword fell upon him, throwing him to the ground and drawing a scream from Syrenne's lips, over which she had no control. In a hasty and completely instinctive move spurred from the different types of adrenaline now rushing through her body, she threw one of her swords directly at the Gurak. The poor creature barely had time to blink before the flying weapon embedded itself into his neck, leaving him to drown in his own pool of blood. Still bubbling with worry—worry that Syrenne was familiar with and wished would disappear—she ran to where Lowell lay, moaning in pain and grasping at the wound on his shoulder.

"Such power! Such grace!"

"Get up, get up!" she cried, grabbing her sword as she reached up. "We have to get to the fountain."

He hissed in pain as she forcefully lifted him up and let him lean against her. Even in the state she was in, even in the state he was in, she couldn't ignore the bumps that appeared on her skin when she made contact with him. She tried to remind herself of the priorities: get him safe, keep him safe, kill the rest of the Gurak. And still, she couldn't push away the thoughts that were now rushing to the forefront of her mind. How warm and smooth Lowell's skin felt, the sweet scent of his breath as he slowly inhaled and exhaled, the way his hair brushed against her neck and the pressure of his body as he leaned against her...

"Almost there," she soothed, "just a little bit further."

"I'm...fine..." he argued. "I can...make it...alone..."

"No, no," she hissed. She surprised herself with her abrupt defensiveness. "I'm _not _leavin' you ever again."

Time seemed to stop for a moment. She had just said what she had been trying to avoid, just admitted what she had been denying. He widened his eyes at her, almost as surprised as she was by the words that had unwillingly fallen from her tongue, but she immediately looked away. Syrenne was afraid of confronting her emotions, especially as they were being deciphered by the one person from whom she wanted to hide them. Together, they stumbled into the fountain, and she watched in silence as he regained his energy and was able to stand on his own. Brushing himself off, he looked over at her with that signature smile of his—the smile that made Syrenne want to weep.

"Thanks for that," he said.

"Yeah, yeah, try not to be so stupid next time 'round."

Syrenne pretended that what she'd said earlier hadn't happened. Even as she tried to hide her emotions, she knew that he could see right through her. And he made that very clear by the chuckle he gave her, and another of those cheeky little winks. Then, without warning, he stepped closer. Sweat began rolling down Syrenne's face, and she felt her hands become cold and clammy.

"What are you—?"

His lips were on hers just as the horn blared declaring their victory.

Before anyone else noticed them, he ran off to join Yurick and Zael, leaving Syrenne behind to blink and furrow her brow and ask herself what had just happened. The only thing that helped her answer that question was the tingling on her lips and the shivers that were continuously running up and down her spine.

"Syrenne? What are you doing? We have to finish!"

In the back of her mind, she heard Yurick calling her, but couldn't truly process his words. All she could do was blindly move forward and futilely try to figure out how to get out of the mess into which Lowell had just ungraciously thrown her. He had made her forget what she had witnessed the night before—even if it was for a single moment, she had forgotten how angry she was with him. Her anger had been replaced by pure ecstasy. And though she tried with every ability within her to disregard the happiness she had just experienced, she simply couldn't. The only thing she could think at that moment was about how badly she wanted to experience it again.

As she followed the three boys to the next room, where a new challenge awaited, her eyes were drawn to Lowell's back. His hair seemed unbelievably blonde and unbelievably shiny in the sunlight. He turned to glance over his shoulder, and the smile on his face sent Syrenne one message and one message only:

I want_ you._


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"No, we can't do this, I'm mad at you."

"Can't you just trust me for once, love?"

"Why the bloody hell would I do that?"

* * *

For the very first time since Syrenne had discovered alcohol, she did not want to get drunk. She didn't want to swallow a single drop of beer that night, not even to help her forget the day's events. For some reason, she wanted to remember everything as clearly as she could. She felt as though she hadn't experienced such a variety of pure, raw, genuine emotion in a while, and she wanted to remember how it felt. Not only the ecstasy and the shivers, but also the sadness. Syrenne wasn't sure what exactly was running through her mind on that night, as the men and women around her drank their alcohol and danced on tables. She just did not want to get drunk. She sat at a table with Zael, Yurick, Mirania, and Lowell, and while the mug sat temptingly in front of her, not once did she reach out for it. And she was all too aware of the stares of surprise the others were giving her.

"Are you...gonna drink that?" Zael asked.

"What? No, I don't think so." she shrugged. They all looked at each other in sincere bewilderment.

"You're not?" Lowell gasped. "What is happening to the world. Everybody, Syrenne _doesn't_ want to drink! The apocalypse is near!"

"Shut it, you," she said with a smile. He held her gaze, smiled back, and made her feel uncomfortable and comfortable all at once.

"You've been acting weird today," Yurick observed. "Is something wrong?"

"This really isn't like you, especially after a victory at the arena," Mirania agreed. She looked at Syrenne with a knowing eye, under which Syrenne couldn't help but shudder.

"Is it really that odd? I just don't want a drink, 'kay?"

"Well, if you don't want a drink..."

Lowell stood up and made his way around to Syrenne's seat. Every step he took felt like an earthquake beneath her, and she struggled to stay in her seat and face the disaster that was walking toward her. She hated what he was doing to her, and she tried to remember what had made her so angry with him in the first place...and she couldn't. The only thing she could remember at that second, watching Lowell approach her, was the kiss.

"Do you want to dance?"

Syrenne was no longer in control of her words or her actions.

"Why not?"

He took her calloused hand in his own and led her to the center of the tavern, where the music could be heard the loudest. Syrenne knew that her friends were chuckling amongst themselves, sneaking glances at the two of them and making witty comments, but she put all of that aside for a moment. She disregarded anything that anyone else would have to say, including the more logical side of herself, which was telling her to run away as fast as she could. In the back of her mind, in a place where she put her deepest and darkest secrets and regrets, the woman from the night before stood taunting her. But at that second, Syrenne couldn't see her. She only saw the bright, wide smile on Lowell's face in front of her and she only heard the laughter that escaped melodiously from his lips. His hands grasped hers as if he were afraid she would disappear if he loosened his grip.

Off-beat and ungracefully, the two of them jumped around to the music, unaware of their surroundings. They had eyes only for each other. For a time that seemed much too short, they danced and spun around and let their voices fill the air. Syrenne watched his face, the contortions of his muscles as he smiled and winked and howled joyfully. Then her eyes moved to his arms, intertwined with hers and continuously swinging back and forth. Finally, she watched his feet, clumsily stumbling over each other and forcing her to stumble along with him. She couldn't help but laugh loudly and purely, for it was the first time since Lowell nearly died that she felt the pieces of the puzzle were starting to fall into place. The sound of clapping reached her eyes, and she blinked out of her trance to see that the customers had made a circle around the two of them and were clapping to the beat.

"You could be a bit more graceful, you know," Lowell teased. He pulled her toward him until her back was against his chest and his chin rested on her shoulder.

"Look who's talkin'," she whispered, letting her lips graze his ear. Then she spun herself away from him.

When Syrenne met his eyes again, she recognized a hunger in them that she had never seen before. Even last night, while he had stood above a naked woman in a bed with flushed cheeks and jittery movements, she hadn't seen that hunger. Not the same kind. That one had been beastly, animalistic, pure instinct. This one was passionate, though she wasn't sure if it was only her wishful mind playing tricks on her.

Suddenly, everybody was dancing. The tavern became crowded with the bodies bumping against each other and stepping on toes, all the while crying out in happiness. Drinks spilled on the floor and strangers held hands, but every single person had stood up and followed Syrenne and Lowell's lead. Now, she was no longer dancing only with him; she was dancing with everybody, but his grip on her fingers only appeared to have grown tighter.

"Syrenne!" he called over the din. The sound of her name on his lips was delicious. She then found herself being pushed out of the crowd, toward the stairs. Finally, she and Lowell emerged from the crowd.

"What d'you want?" she laughed.

"Come upstairs, I want to show you something."

"But I ain't finished dancin'!"

"Come _on_, it's really important."

Though she protested with what little determination she had, Lowell dragged her forcefully up the stairs and toward her own room. The music almost fell to silence when he closed the door behind them.

"All right, hurry up and show me—"

Suddenly, he pushed Syrenne up against the nearest wall and, with his hands at her neck, kissed her with as much force as he could muster. In the mist that overcame her mind, the only thing she could think to do was grab desperately at his shirt, pull him closer, and open her mouth wider. They did not begin gently, with hesitant advances and romantic gestures. They were forceful and passionate and thirsty from the moment his lips touched hers. Syrenne felt her senses become heightened to a completely new level, practically inhuman—she was aware of everything. She could taste the hunger and desperation on his tongue, hear the lust in his heavy breathing, see the desire in the way he pushed her back and then pulled her toward him again, feel the strong, almost painful grip of his hands around her forearms.

"Stop, Lowell, stop..."

An image was beginning to come back to her. She let her head rest back against the wall as his lips moved down to her jaw bone, his fingers traced her collarbone, and his mouth found the tender skin of her neck. She closed her eyes and twirled his blonde hair in her shaky fingers, trying to resist the image that was reappearing behind her closed eyelids.

"Stop it..."

"Can't you shut up for two seconds?" he laughed darkly, reaching for her lips once more. The image was swiftly become clearer and clearer.

"No, we can't do this, I'm mad at you."

"Can't you just trust me for once, love?"

"Why the bloody hell would I do that?"

As much as her body told her not to, she pushed him away, panting and glaring at him with menacingly narrowed eyes. She suddenly remembered why she had wanted to go to the arena, why she had found herself standing in front of Dagran's grave, why she had willingly and deliberately shown Lowell her naked body the previous night. She remembered why she had been troubled all day, why her brain had been whirring and fighting a fierce battle with her heart.

"I guess you've already forgotten what happened last night, yeah?"

Lowell stared at her silently, his chest rising and falling.

"Why the _hell_ would I trust you after that?" Her voice was growing louder. "Tell me, _why?_ You never change, Lowell!"

"How could I have forgotten last night," he smiled.

"Don't you dare smile at me like that, you bastard! You betrayed me..."

She cursed the tears that were appearing.

"You haven't been all that welcoming, either," he shrugged. She didn't even realize that he was slowly creeping closer. "Tell me, love, what is it you want?"

"I want..."

Syrenne didn't know what she wanted. She was trapped.

_Do you want him?_

_ Does he want _you?

"I want you to stop havin' sex with other girls."

_Really? That's what you came up with?_

"Why?"

"'Cos..."

"Because you love me?"

His face was now inches from hers, and when he licked his lips, Syrenne felt her resolve get weaker.

"Tell me you love me," he breathed into her lips. Her knees buckled a bit, and her skin felt as if it were on fire. He put his hands on her hips, pressed her against the wall, and brought his mouth to her ear. "Because I love you. Only you."

"How d'you expect me to believe you...?"

He chuckled a cold, sensual chuckle.

"Tell me you love me." He wiped a tear that escaped her eye with his thumb, and kissed her cheek. "Say that...and I'll be yours."

She put her hands on his cheeks in a gesture that was out of her control and stared into his eyes as intently as she could. Syrenne wanted more than anything to see the love from him that she so craved. She wanted to see it sparkling in his eyes, she wanted to see it in his movements and hear it in his words and feel it in his touch. But she could not lie anymore. When she closed her eyes, she saw him lying at her feet, gasping for breath and reaching for her hand. She had watched him slip away from her before, watched him die in her arms. And now he was in her arms once more, pleading for her love.

_What more can I do?_

"I love you," she finally said. The only three words that could've come from her mouth.

Lowell smiled, touched his forehead to hers, and said, "Then I'm yours. And you're mine."

They were chest to chest once more, grasping for each other, making sure there wasn't a single inch between them. Their breathing mingled, their salty skin seemed to fuse together, and the beating of their hearts became one and the same. As Syrenne clawed at his scarf, threw it forcefully to the ground, he pressed his hips against hers and began to untie the already loosened string behind her back. Syrenne opened her mouth, only to have it smothered again by his. Almost by instinct, she slipped her hands under his shirt to feel the smooth skin of his chest, and he obediently lifted his arms and let the shirt fall to the ground. Then, while his tongue began tracing the line of her lips, she put her hands against his bare shoulders and shoved him back. She pushed and pushed and pushed, keeping her mouth upon his, until he fell backward onto the bed with a sound that was a combination of a moan and a laugh.

Syrenne wanted to explore his mind, body, and soul. She wanted to know and feel everything about him, learn to love every little thing. She wanted to learn what no woman had ever learned about Lowell before, and she wanted to show him everything about her, as well. As she lay on top of him, her bare chest against his bare chest and her lips hovering hauntingly above his, she let her fingers run through his hair. They undid the tangles, then moved to the corners of his eyes. His smile faded into an expression that showed complete immersion. He watched her watch him as if he had never seen anything like it. They sat like that for what seemed like years, staring into each other's eyes and wanting nothing more in life than to stay that way forever. She bent down and kissed his forehead. Then his eyes, his nose, his lips, his chin, his neck, kissed his chest as her fingers undid the buckle on his pants. All the while, his fingers traced patterns on her back, ran up and down the ridges of her spine.

Finally, they were there. The two of them, with nothing but their bodies and their souls to offer, passionate and hungry and lustful.

"What are you waitin' for?" Syrenne asked between her long, desperate kisses. "Didn't you say I was yours?"

"Yeah...I did..." Lowell mumbled, and then flipped her onto her back. She sighed heavily and stared up at him with her emerald eyes, opened her mouth as she exhaled, and traced his lower lip with her finger.

"Well if I'm yours," she continued, "take me."

Lowell gave her that crooked smile and bit his lip. And with that Syrenne knew that in his arms was where she was meant to be.


End file.
